


Xanach Besh'net Nos Jhem ge'Réhno

by Hyperion327



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alien Sheriff Stilinski, Alien Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - High School, Guys this is fuckin' WILD, Homophobic Language, Human Derek Hale, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Relationships, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperion327/pseuds/Hyperion327
Summary: Xanach besh'net Nos jhem ge'réhno -Avilahn, a common Mehntex phrase used as a declaration of love. Literally translated meaning, "I have crossed the galaxy to find you,"OREleven or so years after the alien invasion that wasn't, a group of new students transfers to Beacon Hills High School as part of a cultural exchange program. When Derek collides with one of these exchange students, the rest, as they say, is history.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Kate Argent (mentioned), Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski/Theo Raeken (Mentioned), Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 17
Kudos: 200





	Xanach Besh'net Nos Jhem ge'Réhno

**Author's Note:**

> So, the inspiration for this is credited to the CW show Starcrossed, though I've taken it in a brighter direction. There isn't much, but there is some dialogue in a fictional language. A complete glossary of these phrases and words is available at the bottom of the fic. Enjoy!

**2021**

“No fair!” Camden Lahey cries out in indignation, chasing after Paige as she runs from him after snatching the ball from his hand while he was distracted by something. 

“It’s _keepaway,_ Cam!” She calls back. “You gotta try and get it back!” 

Derek, for his part, just sits on the bench at the edge of the playground, isolated from the rest of his class by nerves, which Mrs. Singer has clearly noticed, by the way she approaches with a tender smile she saves for the more reserved of her kindergarteners when she tries to encourage them to be more social. 

“Hey, sweetie,” She says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I see Camden and Paige are playing, why don’t you go join them?” 

He shakes his head. “Don’ wanna.” 

“How come?”

Derek shrugs, genuinely unsure himself as to why he wouldn’t want to play with his two friends. That’s when it begins. 

A flash of light in the sky, like an airplane catching the light of the sun just right and glinting it back to earth. Then, another, and another, until there are dozens, no hundreds of flashes in the sky. The kids on the playground all stop what they are doing, pointing up at the heavens and making noises of awe. Even Mrs. Singer and the other kindergarten teachers watch with wonder, and a degree of suspicion the children do not yet have the worldly experience to possess. 

“What the Hell…?” Mrs. S murmurs to herself, standing up but still keeping a hand on Derek’s shoulder, though it’s gone from friendly to the tightness of a protective grip. “Derek, I want you to take my keycard and go open the door, please.” She instructs, handing him her badge before walking to where all the kids can see her. 

“Hey, guys! One, two, three, eyes on me!” 

A chorus of _‘One, two, eyes on you!’_ comes back to her. “Let’s go inside, we’re gonna have indoor recess for the rest of the day!” Mrs. Singer’s class all let out disappointed groans, but begin to file into a line to head inside, just as the other teachers begin wrangling their own sets of children, and that’s when it happens. 

All at once, the sky opens up, great crimson lines sprinting across the springtime sky like meteors burning in atmosphere, but they do not stop, streaking across the heavens and tearing through the clouds, reducing the fat, fluffy masses of water vapor to confused streaks. Far to the north, the bolts hit ground, and the northern horizon glows brighter than the sun for a few seconds. 

The loudest sound Derek has ever heard in his life, even louder than the plane he rode in to go see Grandma and Grandpa in New York, reigns omnipresent. Everyone, student and teacher alike, begins screaming, scrambling their way inside without any sense of organization. 

“Everyone in the closet!” Mrs. Singer barks, finishing her headcount just as the classroom begins to shake. The kids all do as they’re told, making their way into the recessed alcove where they all store their backpacks, and the teacher forces the ancient spinning doors shut, with only dim shafts of light from the fluorescents making their way into the area. 

The tight space is filled with the nervous crying of nearly twenty five and six year olds, as well as the panicked breaths of Mrs. Singer, who Derek has wound up pressed tightly to her chest. When the light making its way into the closet turns crimson, and the roaring starts up once more, he just buries his head into his teacher’s shoulder and cries, desperately wanting nothing more than his mom or his big sister. 

**+**

**2033**

What should have been the end of the world as anyone knew it was averted. That horrible day, 19 May, 2021, _should_ have marked the beginning of an extraterrestrial genocide against the human race, one which the world would have been powerless to stop, despite what decades of science fiction had foolishly taught them. 

After all, it took two minutes from the arrival of the fleet of Gondiish warships for them to wipe out Northern California, destroying every major settlement, including Sacramento, and killing ten of the eleven million residents of the region. 

Instead, not long after the orbital bombardment began, it was ended by the surprise arrival of humanity’s saviors. The Gondiish had taken another world by storm once before, one that _had_ possessed the capacity to resist, and it resulted in that planet’s complete annihilation, alongside most of its people. Of thirteen billion Mehntex, ten million had escaped the destruction of their people, most of them scattered across their offworld outposts, and only a precious few hundred thousand escaping the attack on their homeworld of Kasva’ar. 

The Gondiish had shredded their own home in glorious nuclear holocaust, and so had invaded Kasva’ar as a new planet for themselves, not realizing that a race which had set aside weapons for millennia could pick them back up just as easily. The Mehntex gave chase across the galaxy, resolved to the shame of committing an act of genocide themselves, if only for the greater good. That act had come to fruition when the battered, damaged remnants of the Mehntex Fleet arrived only moments after the Gondiish, finally wiping them out in orbit of Earth. 

Instead of marking the beginning of the end, 19 May, 2021 marked Contact Day. The worldless Mehntex had given nearly ten thousand of their already dangerously depleted numbers to save Earth, and so the United States offered them a home in the ruins of Northern California. Four years later, New Kasva’ar became the fifty-third state, and citizenship was finalized for ten million extraterrestrials, now becoming American citizens. Earth had changed from the homeworld of one species to two, and that change did not come so easily to everyone.

**+**

_“Tell me_ you heard!” Laura cries joyously, leaning over the island in the Hale house as she sips on a smoothie. 

Derek, already in a poor mood from being forced to return school for the second half of his junior year, just levels what Cora has dubbed ‘the eyebrows of death’ at his elder sister. 

“I guess as part of an exchange, like ten of them are coming to BHHS!” She rejoices. “Can you _believe_ it?!” 

“Ten of who? The Mehntex?” He asks, realizing she isn’t going to leave him alone until he responds. 

“No, ten of the lax bros. Yes, ten Mehntex are coming to school for the semester!” 

Cora sweeps into the room, leveling a thoroughly unimpressed look at the oldest of the Hale children. “Jesus Christ, Laur, you act like they’re from a foreign country. We can go to New Kasva’ar. We’ve been to New Kasva’ar, it’s two hours north and just across the Golden Gate.”

“That’s different!” She insists. “Sure, NK isn’t that far, and sure, we’ve all met a few Mehntex, but they’re going to be going to school _here,_ in Beacon Hills. There’s almost no integration outside of the major cities.” 

“Yeah, because any time a Mehntex moves too far from a city or their state, they wind up getting chased out of town by xenophobic locals, or worse, lynched by the UHF.” Derek adds dryly. 

“The United Human Front is nothing more than the KKK rebranded.” Talia Hale says as she enters the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a bowl of fruit on the counter. “If Congress had any sense they’d treat them the same way they did the Klan, declare them terrorists and arrest the whole lot.” 

“Yeah, well, Gillibrand isn’t President anymore, Ma.” Laura responds. “Deucalion rode a xenophobic wave into office in the nastiest election in US history, and the GOP is too busy trying to disenfranchise people to do anything about the racists.” 

Derek just grins wryly and takes a bite of his toast. 

**+**

Beacon Hills High School is abuzz with the news of ten Mehntex students transferring in for a semester. Every other word out of pretty much everyone’s mouth is either _‘alien’, ‘Mehntex,’_ or, for the more xenophobic crowd, _‘glowies’._

In terms of appearance, Mehntex and Humans are almost identical, a fact that has left geneticists and evolutionary biologists of both races completely stumped. So closely related are the two species that they can reproduce, and the offspring born are themselves fertile. The two key markers, however, are honest-to-God pointed ears, and a natural bioluminescence in the irises, causing their eyes to glow whatever color they are. 

Derek, for his part, is entirely uninterested in the whole thing, having gotten over his alien phase years ago, and he’s praying that Camden and Paige are every bit as uninterested as he is. He doesn’t know how much more fawning over the concept of going to school with Mehntex he can handle. 

He finds the two of them in the cafeteria, joined by Cam’s little brother Isaac and his boyfriend Scott, as well as Paige’s friend Erica. Plopping into the seat next to Paige, Derek flicks open his phone and lets out a sigh. 

“Oh, boy,” Paige chuckles, “Mr. Aloof is here to tell us how he’s so unimpressed with everyone being interested in BHHS’ newest students.” 

Camden smirks, and joins in on the chirping. “We should know better than to obsess, Paige. They’re just people, after all.” He says in an uncanny impression of Derek. 

“They _are.”_ He mutters, ignoring the teasing by rereading the same tweet six times. 

“You gotta admit, it’s cool.” Isaac adds, and Scott nods in agreement. 

Derek finally addresses the group. “These kids lost everything when they were in preschool, you guys, and now they’re being transferred into a new school away from all of their people. I hear they’re bringing in fucking armed cops to guard them. How is us acting like they’ve just landed going to help that?”

“They _did_ sign up for this, Der.” Erica points out. “Just saying, they had to know what they were getting themselves into.” 

The five minute warning bell drones over the school’s speakers, ending the discussion for all of them. They say their goodbyes, everyone making their way to their respective homerooms. Derek half expects to see at least one new student sporting glowing eyes and pointed ears in his, because of _course_ there would be, but there isn’t a single new person in the classroom. 

As the morning announcements roll, Ms. Morrell, the school’s main guidance counselor, cuts in at the end. _‘Welcome back, everyone, I hope you all had an excellent break, and that you’ve come back to BHHS well-rested and ready to learn. As most of you have no doubt heard, Beacon Hills has taken part in the California-New Kasva’ar exchange program, and so ten lucky BHHS students are now attending Haesh Mehr High School in Solak, New Kasva’ar.’_

 _‘This also means we’re welcoming ten students from HMHS. You may notice that there is a heightened security presence as a result of this. These officers are here for_ everyone’s _protection, but hopefully, they won’t be here permanently. In the meantime, let’s all make sure to put our best foot forward as we welcome our new students. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.’_

From behind him, Derek hears more than one of the usual idiots muttering about glowies and alien invaders. He rolls his eyes and listens in as Mrs. Finch welcomes them back for another semester of AP bio. 

**+**

_“Hesh'tar ma’an, Adda. Keh, mélé Nos viintak._ Dad, seriously, the day’s been fine.” Stiles says, slightly exasperated by the third concerned comm he’s gotten from his father since his first day at Beacon Hills began. “There hasn’t been anything more than the usual stares and the off inappropriate question.” 

_‘I’m sorry, kiddo, I just don’t trust those_ gatzen _kids. Children of any race have the capacity to be cruel.’_ His father replies. 

Scoffing, Stiles lets a slight tone of reprimand into his voice. “It might help build some trust if you didn’t go throwing around racial slurs. Those _gatzen_ let us stay here when we could’ve been exiled to search for years for a new world.” 

_‘Yeah, yeah, I know, we owe the Humans our lives. Still doesn’t mean they don’t act like animals.’_

“They’re young, Dad. We were like them once.” 

_‘And we nearly destroyed ourselves over it. They’ve seen what the end of the road they’re following looks like, and they still want to go there.’_

“Which is why,” Stiles begins, adjusting his backpack as he walks over the open quad to his next class while pointedly ignoring the open stares, “Integration is so important. It’s up to us to learn from each other, and stewing in mutual suspicion isn’t going to help. Look, I gotta go, I’ll talk to you later. _Jhem Nos kara.”_

_‘Jhem kara, Stiles.’_

He’s too busy sliding his phone back into his pocket to notice the equally distracted teenager headed directly for him, and Stiles finds himself flat on his back with his messenger bag opened wide, school supplies scattering across the grass of the quad. As he blinks dazedly, he vaguely registers cursing from nearby. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ I am so sorry, are you alright?” A voice, presumably belonging to the person he collided with, asks. 

Stiles sits up, rubbing at the sore back of his head, and catches sight of the other teen. He’s more pretty than handsome, with full lips and eyes that are a mess of blue, grey, and green that stand in stark contrast to his pale skin and the fringed bangs of his rich, brown hair. 

“Uh… _Keh,_ I mean, yeah, I’m fine. Really, I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention.” He says quickly, and his hand moves to run along the side of his head, framing one pointed ear in a nervous tick. 

The Human scrambles over, gathering up Stiles’ loose binders from the grass, and handing them over. “Here, I think that’s everything.” 

“Thank you. Are _you_ alright?”

“Yeah,” He nods. “My backpack took most of the blow, bounced me to the side. You got the worst out of the two of us. Hey, do you need help getting to your next class? I remember how much of a maze this place was the first time I came here.” 

“Actually, that would be awesome. Can you point me to C-16, it’s Mr. Harris’ junior chemistry class?” Stiles asks. 

“That’s actually my next class, too. I’ll walk you. I’m Derek, by the way, Derek Hale.” The other teenager says, sticking out a hand in greeting. 

“Tas’séh-Genim Kéva Xhostiles’ii.” He responds, accepting the handshake. “Call me Stiles.” 

Derek blinks in surprise. “I’ve never heard a full Mehntex name before. Good to meet you, Stiles.” 

“You want the rundown on that one?” He chuckles as they start walking towards their shared class, and the Human nods. “Tas’séh is my _liro,_ it’s a tribal distinction passed patrilineally, one that’s been purely customary for thousands of years among our people. Genim, that’s my first name, Kéva is a clan honorific, which is the matrilineal name, it’s a masculine of my grandmother’s name, which was Kév’ohn. Xhostiles is the family name, also patrilineal, and the suffix _‘ii_ is a shorthand for _Iigael,_ our word for Mehntex born on Kasva’ar.” 

“Well, I guess I should tell you mine. English names are a lot simpler, the first and middle name are chosen at random, they don’t tend to have a lot of set meaning unless someone is named for something else, and the surname is usually patrilineal, but sometimes a man will take his wife’s last name, or the woman might join his name to hers. Derek is a shortened version of Theodoric, which comes from a dead language called Franconian, and that means _ruler_ or _king,_ and my middle name is Stephen, for my grandfather, and that’s Greek for crown or wreath. The name Hale is English, but it has its roots in Saxon, and it can mean _hollow,_ like a break in a forest, or hero and in modern English, Hale is another word for healthy.” 

Stiles turns to look at him, clearly quite impressed. “Most Humans I’ve met have no clue what most of their names mean. Hell, the only reason I do is because our names are so different from yours, that your kind don’t know what to do with them, and it’s easier to explain.” 

“So, if your first name is Genim, why don’t you go by that?” Derek asks, just as they arrive at Harris' classroom. 

He shrugs. “I never really liked my name, and anyway, a lot of us took Human names when we came here. My dad goes by John.” Stiles pauses, looking at the tables, only a handful of which are unoccupied, and he’s clearly nervous about where to sit. 

His companion takes notice, and points to a table in the back. “Don’t worry, we’ll sit together.” He assures him, watching the way the Mehntex relaxes at his words. 

Chemistry with Harris is every bit the constant torture it was the two quarters before, and the only thing that makes it tolerable for Derek is the constant look of surprise on Stiles’ face as Harris snipes and snarls at every wrong answer or stupid question, which keeps the new student from asking any questions for fear of winding up on the receiving end of the teacher’s wrath.

In the aftermath, they compare schedules, finding they share a study hall and a lunch, and Derek invites Stiles to join him at his table when it’s time to eat. After that, they part ways, only for Cora to immediately swoop in and take her elder brother by the arm. 

_“So!”_ She says with false enthusiasm. “The rumor mill is already buzzing about how you flattened one of the Mehntex. I’ve heard a variation where you charged him, another where he charged you, and a third where you two charged each other almost fought, but considering you two seemed pretty chummy, I’m guessing they’re all bullshit.” 

He rolls his eyes, scoffing in disgust at the efficiency at which the high school rumor mill produces nonsense. “We walked into each other by accident, and I guess we made friends? I don’t know, but he’s joining us at lunch, so be on your best behavior, wild child.” 

Cora smiles sweetly, and draws a halo over her head with her finger. “As if I ever do anything else.” 

“Stop lying to your family, Cora Jane.” 

“Laura’s gonna have a field day with this one.” 

_“Fuck.”_ He curses. 

**+**

Lunch goes quite well. Stiles brings one of his own, a tall, broad guy who introduces himself as Boyd, whose eyes glow burnt sienna, and has little to say. He sits himself down next to Erica, who seems to take a liking to him quite well. Camden, Isaac, and Scott, all have lunch a separate period, but Paige joins them, and she immediately notices something. 

“Stiles, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s like I’m looking in a genderbend mirror. If it weren’t for, you know, the glowing gold eyes and the Vulcan ears, I’d swear you could be my brother!” She exclaims, immediately positioning herself next to him to make the comparison clear for the others at the table. 

Cora and Boyd both voice agreement, and Derek nods, honestly shocked by how close the resemblance is, and, for the first time, he’s struck by how beautiful Stiles actually is. His eyes are the color of honey, and they manage to radiate light even in the brightly-lit fluorescence of the cafeteria, and his hair is such a dark shade of brown it’s nearly black. He’s pale, and dotted with moles, with a square jaw, and lips that Uncle Peter might have crassly referred to as cocksucker lips, which has Derek picturing some extremely inappropriate things. 

He’s a teenage boy, he won’t pretend that he doesn’t jerk off, and if he’s being honest, more than once he’s found his way into the Mehntex category on Pornhub. He knows that they look just like Humans do down there, and that there’s been enough interspecies pairings to produce thousands of mixed kids, most of whom tend to have the features of their Human parent, but with the distinct bioluminescence and pointed ears of the Mehntex.

Later that day, alone in the privacy of his bedroom, Derek goes back into that category, and works himself over to the sight of a pale, thin Mehntex with a crop of dark hair ride the cock of a Human until he’s left with a mess on his stomach and the distinct feeling of dread blossoming in his stomach. 

**+**

Once upon a time, Stiles would’ve been mad for a girl like Lydia. She was brilliant and beautiful, with a sharp tongue and what the Humans would call a closet nerd streak, though the passion and detail-oriented mindset of these so-called nerds was not shamed in Mehntex culture, but celebrated. Yet another difficult cultural hurdle to overcome for the two races of Earth. 

The Martins are an interesting host family, if quite small by his people’s standards, he supposes. They’re well-off, even by the standards of the quite wealthy Bay Area, and Mrs. Martin is pleasant enough, in a cold, and distant sort of way. Lydia, for her part, keeps her distance at school, but spends most of her free time hanging out with Stiles at home. She’s fluent in Avilahn in a way few Humans living outside of New Kasva’ar are, and prefers to speak the language with him over English, as it keeps her sharp. 

_“Sédii jhem man Nos korcala tersu?”_ She says, throwing him a bottle of Coke from the fridge. 

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s _mahn,_ not _man,_ that means you’re ordering me to take the bottle, not offering it. Avilahn uses vowel sounds for intention. A hard ‘A’ takes the word for give and changes it to mean you’re forcing it upon me.” 

“Got it. _Heh-net siin’o Derek Hale koz jhem?”_

_“Samrahk-net nu.”_

Lydia lets out a tinkling, bell-like laugh. “You walked into one another? That must’ve been quite the sight.” 

“Yeah. Turns out he makes for decent company. We have chemistry, lunch, and a study hall together.” He replies. 

“Well, he’s always been rather antisocial, honestly. I suppose he was bound to make a friend sooner or later.” She shrugs. “Guess I’ll add him to the invitation list for the party that’s coming up.”

_“Heh?”_

_“Vista’al niishaena sahna ge’vór jhem-mé.”_ Lydia drops casually, making Stiles sputter in outrage.

“Wha- I am _not!”_ He protests, but she’s already slinking upstairs, with that thrice-damned ringing laughter trailing after her.

**+**

The Hale house is a sprawling thing, deep set in the forest known as the Preserve. The first time Derek takes Stiles there after school thanks to an autonomous cab, the visitor is struck by the serenity of the hollow the home has been constructed in. 

“Yeah,” Derek remarks, “It’s really peaceful, but it can get annoying. There’s no walking to anything with how far into the Preserve we are.” 

“It reminds me of home.” He responds distantly, looking up at a great maple tree in the yard.

“Your house back in New Kasva’ar is out in the sticks?” 

Stiles shakes his head. “I meant back on Kasva’ar.” The statement comes out softly. “Our house was in a place like this.” 

“Would you tell me about it?” He asks, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sure. Let’s go sit.” 

The two teenagers make their way over to the steps of the porch, and sit down next to one another. Stiles lets out a sigh, clearly lost in the memories of Kasva’ar. Finally, he speaks. “We lived at the edges of a city not too much bigger than Beacon Hills. The country around it was this mix of woods and plains, and mountains higher than your Himalayas were located to the north. Behind the mountains was the Miina Plateau, which had a massive inland sea feeding the rivers that kept the plains irrigated.” 

“The sky… it was different than on Earth. Just a shade bluer than teal, sort of, and Kasva’ar’s moon was smaller, and _much_ closer. I remember so clearly, when the moon rose and set, the atmospheric lensing made it fuzzy around the edges, because you could _see_ the mountains and canyons that made the surface uneven. The grass was golden, and so soft you could sleep on it. I used to love taking naps with my parents in the yard.” 

He stops, his voice thick with emotion, and Derek smiles encouragingly at him. “Thank you for sharing that with me. The pictures of Kasva’ar. don’t do your words justice. C’mon, let’s go inside.” 

As soon as they step through the door, a voice carries through from the kitchen. “Der, that you?” 

“Yeah, Dad! I have a guest!” He calls back. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” He says, leading Stiles into the kitchen, where a trim, bookish-looking man with sandy blonde hair pulled back in a manbun and Derek’s kaleidoscope eyes is leaning against the counter, pouring over a cookbook. “Dad, this is my friend Stiles.” 

The man looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the clearly alien nature of the visitor to his home, but his face morphs into a welcoming grin as he comes out from behind the counter with a hand extended in greeting. 

“Pleased to meet you, Stiles. I’m Evan Hale.” 

Stiles accepts the firm handshake, smiling back. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hale.” 

“Evan’s fine, really. So, I take it you’re one of the kids who transferred down as part of the exchange program with NK?”

“That’s right. I’m guessing not too many Mehntex make their way through Beacon Hills, if it’s that obvious.” He laughs. 

The elder Hale chuckles. “No, they do not. How are you liking our little town?”

“It’s nice,” Stiles replies. “I’ve met some pretty great people, your son included.” 

“Eh, he’s okay.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. _“He’s_ right here. Hey, what’s for dinner?” 

“I’m putting the pressure cooker your mother got me for my birthday to use with some chicken and pasta recipe.” Evan responds. “Mom’s picking up some stuff on the way home, so she’ll be a little late. Hey, Stiles, would you like to stay for dinner?” 

“Uh… sure?” 

“Awesome. You two go hang out, and Derek, offer our guest a drink, I raised you better than this.” He says teasingly. 

“I would have if some elderly man weren’t accosting my friend. Stiles, do you want a drink?” Derek snorts. 

“Coke, if you have it?” 

“Cherry or regular?”

**+**

If meeting Derek’s father was much less intense than expected, meeting his mother is all of it and possibly some more after that. After a tour of the Hale residence, the two teens had elected to make their way into the living room, keeping the holo on with the volume low while they talked about all manner of inane, teenage nonsense. 

The conversation is interrupted by the sound of the kitchen door opening and shutting, and a quite loud woman’s voice carries to their ears. “... Nichole is in Scotland doing pro bono work for refugees from the English Civil War, and Adam is leaving in two days for West Venezuela. I need you to get that brief ready for the Ninth Circuit.” 

_“Because,_ Ellis, I need someone capable of typing out a half-decent amicus curiae, and I don’t trust that idiot Jim to do it well enough to get us a decent shot at arguing before the Court this autumn.” She continues, rounding the corner into the living room. 

Stiles comes face-to-face with a statuesque woman in a black pantsuit, her hair done up in an elegant but efficient bun, talking into a bluetooth hanging from her ear. She stops short as her eyes land on him, and then speaks to the person on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna need to let you go, Ellis. It seems my son brought home a guest. Yep, thanks, best of luck with the brief, and thank you again.” 

“Mom,” Derek begins, “This is Stiles. He’s… new to BHHS.” 

“Clearly!” She responds, smiling brightly before pulling Stiles into a tight hug, the subtle aroma of her perfume filling his nose. _“Hesh'tar jhem voq’méran tiis!”_

 _“Uh… sahnka.”_ Stiles replies, caught off guard by the enthusiasm of Derek’s mother. 

She pulls back, taking in his features. “Such a handsome young man. I’m Talia, by the way.” 

“I apologize for my mother being the way she is,” Derek intercedes, “She hugs everyone.” 

“If you had to work with the sad shit I did, you’d hug everyone, too, Derek Stephen.” She remarks. “Refugees, human rights violations, and that’s not even getting into all of the innocent people we take on trying to release from prison.” 

“Could’ve been a corporate lawyer…” He replies in a singsong voice. 

Talia rolls her eyes, fondly, and mimes gagging. “I’m not a class traitor, Derek.” She intones. 

“You’re literally the bourgeoisie.” 

“This sounds like that Marx person I’ve read about,” Stiles cuts in, “He invented the theory you call communism, right?” 

“Which was practiced on your world for a period of centuries before it evolved into a command economy, yes.” She replies. “Oh, Stiles, would you like to stay for dinner?” 

Evan pops his head in through the doorway. “Beat you to the punch, love, he’s staying.”

“Wonderful!” 

**+**

Another two weeks go by, and a routine is established. Stiles finds himself integrating quite well into the group of friends, and he’s glad to have Boyd with him as well, as it’s nice that there’s another Mehntex who can roll his eyes over the more outrageous Human antics with. He spends plenty of time at the Hale house, and still finds time to hang out with Lydia, even if he doesn’t really get why she hangs around her idiot boyfriend. Then, the week before the Winter Formal, his hostess announces her plans for a massive party.

Lydia’s party is… well, exactly what one would expect from the Queen Bee of BHHS. Lots of people, loud music, and a steady supply of pilfered alcohol. Finding the concept of an afterparty dated and tacky, she’s decided to host a pre-Winter Formal party instead, having it Friday night ahead of Saturday evening’s dance. Mrs. Martin is out of town on business, and Stiles gets to experience his first Human high school party. 

He’s been to more than one kegger back in New Kasva’ar, but the food, drink, and music there are all firmly Mehntex, and the language is a mix of English and Avilahn that only becomes more muddled as the night goes on and the liquor there takes full effect. This is something else entirely. 

The beat from the speakers pounds its way through his chest, and the cold of the rum and coke in his hand is quickly becoming the last tether to reality as he finds himself swallowed whole by the throng of dancers in the living room, the collective heat of their bodies and the intoxication of the alcohol making him feel as though he isn’t all there. He sees a flash of two glowing electric blue eyes and the distinctive point of Mehntex ears, and the cocky smirk on the face lets him know exactly who it is. 

Of course, _he_ had to come to the party. Konaka-Amathéoros Sejj Raeykentsa’loq, though apparently he’s changed his name to Theo Raeken between when they dated and when that _kii’laar_ had found out Stiles signed up for the exchange, and so decided he _had_ to come along. Stiles has managed to avoid him well enough since their arrival in Beacon Hills, but clearly his luck was bound to run out sooner or later. 

His mood decisively soured, he makes for the kitchen, and gives serious consideration to just retreating to his room for the rest of the night. Lydia is religious about making sure there’s no hooking up in any of the rooms in her house, so it’s not like he’d be disturbed. A resolve fills Stiles, however. It’s bad enough that Theo has to be on this program to begin with, he won’t be made to feel uncomfortable in his own home, for fuck’s sake. 

Refilling his beverage, Stiles marches back to the dancers, and lets loose once more. 

**+**

Derek _had_ intended to just stay in for the night, but Laura and Camden made it clear that wasn’t happening. So, here he is, packed into the backseat of the Camaro next to Scott and Isaac, as Laura lets the autopilot guide them to where Lydia Martin’s winter formal rager is in full swing. This part of Beacon Hills, the new money part, as Peter derisively refers to it, has large, modern homes separated by whole acres of land. As a result, the Martin residence is lit up with holos on the inside _and_ out. 

Just as the car finishes parking itself, Derek reflexively ducks as a holographic sea of confetti shoots right through his head, while Scott smiles widely and bats at the lights as they dance through the air. 

“For a sophomore, Martin really does know how to go all out.” Laura remarks, duly impressed. “I feel like I’m going to the Met Gala.” 

The rest of them voice their agreement, and the group of teenagers makes their way into the large house, instantly assaulted by the noise of the pounding music and nearly a hundred teenagers in various states of intoxication. It takes all of five minutes for Laura to find her girlfriends and for the freshman Scott and Isaac to make their way over to the dance floor, where they skip even pretending to dance and get straight to dry humping one another to the beat, leaving Derek and Camden alone. 

The elder Lahey smirks. “Ah, to be young and in love.” 

“To be young and horny, you mean.” He responds dryly. 

“Already there, Der, my man. At least those two are getting off with _somebody else._ It’s been… shit, six months for me? When did we run into Danny at the Jungle?” 

“That was only August, Cam. Didn’t you and that Jess girl hook up at homecoming?” 

Camden shakes his head. “Nah, we just made out for a bit. She didn’t want to risk getting caught behind the bleachers.” 

“You always have better luck with the guys. I really did _not_ need to see you taking Danny from behind in the bathroom like that. I remember when he used to eat his own boogers in kindergarten.” Derek shudders. 

“Liar. You definitely could’ve gotten in on that, not like it would’ve been the first time.” He shoots back, waggling his eyebrows at him. 

“As much fun as that was, I thought we put a moratorium on fucking our friends.” He deadpans. “We don’t need a repeat of Kate.” 

There’s a flash of regret in Cam’s eyes at the reminder of Kate Argent. “Fair enough. Still, you and I both need to get laid, preferably _tonight!”_

“I wish you nothing but blessings on your quest for dick, ass, mouth, and any other parts you might desire, but I’m gonna-” 

_“Sovash lotan, Amathéoros!”_ A sharp voice breaks the room, and the two teens look up to see Stiles storming out, his whiskey eyes seeming to glow even brighter than usual, and his entire face, including his ears, flush with rage, trailed after by another Mehntex, who’s speaking in a mix of English and Avilahn with a pleading tone. The two of them go out the door into the backyard, and Derek looks to Camden, who nods. 

By the time the two of them reach where Stiles and the other guy have stopped to loudly argue underneath a large tree, Derek can only watch as the dude grabs Stiles by the upper arm, manhandling him close. 

_“Ahem,”_ He loudly clears his throat. “Is there a problem here?” 

Both Derek and Camden cross their arms, leveling twin glares on the douchebag annoying Stiles. “Not at all,” He says, glowing blue eyes wide with concern. “Just a misunderstanding.” 

“I don’t speak Avilahn,” Camden begins, “But I think I can pick up _‘get lost’_ in any language. You’d be wise to leave him alone until he says otherwise.” 

The guy looks between the two of them, before giving one last pleading glance to Stiles before letting him go, and slinking off with his head down, muttering curses in the Mehntex language as he does. 

“You okay?” Derek asks, warily approaching the shaken Stiles, who nods shakily. “Good. Who was that dick?” 

“Theo. We used to date, and he’s never really gotten over me.” He replies. 

“I’m sorry. Why don’t you hang with us, we’ll make sure he doesn’t come near you again.” 

Camden nods. “Yeah, I don’t like the way he was looking at you.” 

“S- sure.” Stiles says, and the three of them make their way back to the house, finding Laura, Paige, Erica, and surprisingly, Boyd as well, all clustered together in the Martin’s dining room, bullshitting with one another around the table. 

They each take seats, greeting one another, and Erica gives them all a grin that could put the Cheshire Cat to shame as she pulls out a glossy black box out of her messenger bag. “Who’s down for _Cards Against Humanity?”_

**+**

Half the fun of the game turns out to be explaining such horrible things as the Hutus and Tutsis and Jesus Christ’s divine hand holes to a very confused and somewhat mortified Stiles and Boyd, though as the alcohol flows, the two of them find they’re more than able to keep up with the Humans, even pulling a few evil jokes from Mehntex history on the blank cards that have the others both shocked and impressed upon their explanation. 

As it drifts ever closer to the last call at three in the morning, the group breaks apart. Laura helps Paige to the kitchen sink, as the smallest and slightest of them has a tendency to drink a bit more than her tiny frame can handle. Erica has fallen asleep cuddling Boyd on a loveseat, and the Mehntex finds himself feeling quite smug as he holds her close. Camden was last seen with his tongue in Danny Mahealani’s mouth, bound for Lydia’s pool house, and Isaac called a taxi back to the McCall house for himself and Scott nearly an hour earlier. 

Derek and Stiles, for their part, are still seated at the table, deeply liquored up, and talking in soft voices, matching the music that has transitioned to the sort of song one could slow dance to. “Refrigerator?” 

_“Saihan’jh. Han’jh_ for short.” Stiles replies.

“Hmm…,” He trails, trying to think of another word. “What about, like, gestures? Do you guys have a middle finger equivalent?” 

The Mehntex presses a fist to his navel, before flattening it and dragging his open palm up to his collar bones. 

“What does that mean?” Derek asks. “Fuck you, I assume?” 

He shakes his head. _“I spit in deep disgust at your decision to play in your own shit._ It’s kinda a way to call someone foolish, or an idiot, or just plain… fuck, wha’s the word…? Gross! Yeah, that.” 

The Human chuckles. “You’re so drunk you’re forgettin’ words.” He slurs. 

“An’ _you’re_ so drunk _jhem_ can’ even speak ‘em right!” Stiles replies, and they both break into soft laughter at that.

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of them just looking at one another, each caught in the other’s eyes, so alien, but undeniably beautiful. 

“Stiles?” 

“Yeah, Der?”

“I really like you. Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah, Der.” 

Derek is there immediately, cupping the side of his head with one hand, and placing the other on his waist, and he kisses him without hesitation. It’s soft, not too urgent, but with a smoldering streak of desire plain in the way his uncoordinated lips move against Stiles’. The Mehntex, for his part, snakes his arms around Derek’s neck, leaning in close. As their tongues meet for the first time, and they get their first taste of one another, Derek traces the shell of Stiles’ pointed ear with his thumb, making him shudder in his arms. After another few seconds, they break apart, trading a final chaste peck.

“Will you go to the formal with me?” Stiles asks. 

Derek’s grin is a mile wide. “Course I will.” He answers. 

**+**

“I told you so.” Lydia intones from where she’s applying makeup in the mirror. 

“Lyds, I’m _way_ too hungover for your gloating.” Stiles replies. “I can’t believe I’m still hungover.” He mutters to himself. 

She shrugs. “You’ve got three hours until the dance. If need be, we’ll keep you alive on aspirin and a lot of water. Now, I took the liberty of having your robes dry cleaned, they’re in a wrap on your bed. Go get them on, and then we’ll do your hair.” 

_“Keh, tsena.”_ He says fondly, slipping into his bedroom. 

Mehntex fashion, especially formalwear, is deeply influenced by the wearer’s _liro._ Tah’séh _liro_ have always tended towards long, intricately folded robes, with the patterns ranging from plain colors to extremely complex, rich materials covered in ancient calligraphy, signifying all manner of tribal rank. Stiles’ robes, however, have a clear Human influence in their design. They are more like a set of tunics, with the outermost layer extending to his knees, and he wears a pair of plain tuxedo pants and dress shoes to go with them. The overcoat is black, and the subsequent layers are white. Underneath the airy fabric, he wears a tight, black tee shirt. Stiles folds the whites of the robe so that they form a deep vee that exposes the shirt, creating the illusion of a tie. 

When he returns to her room after dressing, Lydia has finished with her face, and she smiles approvingly at his outfit. “Very dapper, Xhostiles’ii. Now, come here.” 

In fifteen minutes of work, she takes his hair and tames it back and over, smoothing it in a way that highlights the points of his ears, rather than just letting it be styled up as it usually is. When she pulls back and finally lets him look in the mirror, Stiles is effusive in his praise.

“I look fucking awesome!” He enthuses. 

“Hale isn’t gonna know what hit him.” Lydia smirks.

**+**

“What if this is a mistake?” Derek asks, pacing the room in his sapphire-colored suit, while Cora assists Laura into her brilliant, ice blue gown that falls in waves to the floor. 

“Do you like the guy?” His elder sister asks. 

“Well, duh-”

“And does he like you?” 

“I mean, he _did_ ask me to the dance…” 

Laura shrugs. “Then it’s not a mistake.” 

“But what if something gets said, or shit gets started? Matt Daehler was almost suspended because he started going off on one of them, calling her a glowie and everything. I could be putting him in danger. _God,_ what if the UHF finds out?!” He gasps. 

“Derek!” Cora snaps. “There are always gonna be assholes. We’re all going to be there to back you guys up. No one's gonna start shit, and if they do, they’ll answer to _me._ Just relax and enjoy tonight with a sweet guy you really like.”

He sits down, cradling his head in his hands, and taking a deep breath. “Okay, you’re right. All I should worry about is making sure Stiles has a good time tonight.”

Not long after, everyone is dressed, and the three Hale children are subjected to their parents insistence of taking a thousand pictures before sending them on their way. Laura has decided to actually drive for once, and she takes the Camaro to the Martin house, where Stiles is leaning against one of the columns on the mansion. He turns around, yelling into the house, presumably to Lydia, and then bounds his way over to the car, sliding into the backseat with Derek and pulling him in for a tight hug. 

“You look… wonderful.” He says, grinning at the Human. 

“You’ve definitely got me beat.” Derek replies. “Here, I, uh, I got this for you.” 

He pulls out a small boutonniere, a genomed blue rose, which he pins to Stiles’ overcoat. The floral display identical to the one on Derek’s lapel. As a thanks, he leans over, kissing him on the cheek and smiling widely at him, until they’re interrupted by the flash of Cora’s phone camera. 

_“Adorable.”_ She says. “I’ve already sent it to mom, so expect it on every social media account within ten minutes.” 

“Ugh,” Derek rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep the grin from his face as they head towards Beacon Hills High. 

Just like Lydia’s party, the Winter Formal has made liberal use of holograms in their decorations. Huge snowflakes in every color imaginable, many changing colors, dance with each other in elegant spirals in and around the school. The gym itself is covered in a holographic snowfall, complete with ghostly snow drifts that react to the swirl of dresses and the passing feet of the attendees. 

The DJ in the corner is playing some bright pop tune that has the crowd moving along to the beat of the song, and Derek is helpless to watch the wonder that fills Stiles’ face as he takes it all in. 

“Do you guys not have school dances?” He asks. 

“Banquets. We do huge banquets, not dances.” The Mehntex responds, still clearly shocked and delighted by the sight before him. “Maybe someday, I’ll invite you up for one. They’re really awesome, plus they’re catered, so you’ll get authentic Mehntex food.” 

Derek smiles. “I’d like that.” 

_“Ah! Derek, Stiles!”_ Paige shrieks, dragging Erica, Boyd, and Scott along with her as she makes her way over. She’s dressed in a gown that makes her look like the world’s prettiest red velvet cupcake. Her skirt, impressively voluminous for such a small girl, is blood red, with transitioning up to a cream colored top, and the whole affair is covered in rhinestones. 

To her side, Erica wears a tight little number that goes to the floor, midnight black silk with a slit on the left side that goes all the way up to her hips, and her hair is intricately piled atop her head. Boyd has opted for a Human-style tuxedo that is clearly meant to match Erica’s dress, and Scott wears an emerald colored suit, his own messy flop of hair styled up for the night. 

Paige reaches them then, pulling all of them into tight embraces and subjecting everyone to a round of selfies. “Hey, where’s Isaac and Cam?” Laura asks. 

“Just got a text, they’re on their way.” Scott replies. “In the meantime, let’s _fuck shit up!”_

The group makes their way to the dance floor, and both Derek and Stiles watch in smug satisfaction as Erica wraps her arms around Boyd’s neck to keep him as close as possible while they move to the bouncy beat of the song. Cora, for her part, has taken pity on Scott, and is moving in elegant circles with him, her years of dance class making themselves known as she makes up a routine that’s easy enough for the uncoordinated asthmatic to follow. 

Not long after they start dancing, Isaac and Camden arrive. Isaac wears a midnight blue suit that goes well with Scott’s green one, and Camden is impressive in an all white tuxedo, spare the black bowtie around his neck. 

“There’s my oh-so-handsome date!” Laura croons, leaning up to press a sloppy kiss to Camden’s cheek, her lipstick leaving a bright red clone of her lips there. 

Cam chuckles, reaching for a napkin from a nearby table as he does. “Careful, Laur, it looks like Corrin wants to kill me for having the audacity to be near you.” 

Sure enough, a few feet away, there’s a guy with blonde hair glaring daggers at Camden. 

“I don’t get why you don’t ask him out already!” Derek protests. “You like him, he likes you!”

Laura smirks. “I may be a proud feminist, but sometimes, a girl wants to be wooed and romanced, and if he can’t work up the balls to ask me out, then that’s _his_ problem.” 

“Well, when you’re out here macking on your best friend, you can see why that might dissuade him from trying to romance you?” He responds, a challenge clear in the set of his brow and the taunting tone of his voice. 

She falters at that. “Shit… I think I miscalculated.” 

“I’d say so. Take the Mehntex way, Laura, and go sweep him off his feet. Literally. In ancient times, among the Tah’séh _liro,_ anyone, male or female, could go up and just take the person they wanted to be with and carry them… I think you guys call it bridal style? Either way, if the person being carried accepted, then they were declared married. Just don’t do the part that comes after.” Stiles suggests.

“What comes after?” She asks, now curious. 

“Public copulation to confirm the union has been sealed.” He responds lightly, as though it’s the most perfectly normal thing. 

“Who knew the Mehntex were so liberal?” She wonders aloud, giggling. 

“That’s just my _liro._ The Najka were much more conservative, with stricter gender roles. Obviously, laws mandating equality happened by the time we reached the modern era, but they were still a pretty strict bunch.” Stiles explains.

Derek angles his head. _“Were?_ Did they change?” 

“No, uh…” He trails, a hint of awkwardness and sadness in his tone. “Very few Najka ever left Kasva’ar, and they tended to live in rural areas. As far as anyone knows, none of them made it off. Most survivors are either Tah’séh, Konaka, or Saanzhae, with like a dozen other _liro_ that are lucky if they have a thousand people left in them. There were _hundreds_ back home, and almost all of them are gone.” 

“Oh… I’m sorry.” He replies. 

“I wasn’t even four when it happened, Der. It all feels kinda remote for me, to be honest. So, don’t worry. It’s just the kinda natural sadness that comes from this sort of thing. I’ll be okay.” 

“If you say so.” 

Stiles grins, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Really, I’m fine. Let’s just have some fun.”

**+**

Nothing good can go long without being disturbed, it seems. That’s the thought that’s rattling around in Derek’s head Monday morning, as none other than Matt Daehler swaggers over to his locker, leaning against it. 

“So, uh, you and Reyes each got yourselves a glowie, huh?” He asks, working his jaw and with disgust plain in his eyes, even if his tone has a false sense of friendliness.

Derek scoffs under his breath. “It’s none of your concern, Daehler.” He says, making to walk away. 

“I’d say that the fate of the human race is _everyone’s_ concern,” Matt replies, his tone now ice cold. 

“Wow, ten million of them, almost nine _billion_ of us. I’m so worried about us going extinct.” 

“Crack all the jokes you want, Hale, but they show up here after a bunch of mysterious ships destroy half of California, “save” us all, and then tell a sob story about how the big bad aliens destroyed their home planet, and then the saps in Washington just go and give those freaks sovereign human territory? Just a little convenient, don’t you think?” 

Derek whirls, jabbing a finger into the other teen’s chest. “You’ve been watching too much conspiracy theory shit, Matt. We all saw the Gondiish bodies. They’re on display in like a hundred museums across the world, why don’t you leave me the fuck alone and go see one for yourself?” 

“You’re the one that’s betraying your race,” Matt replies, “Why don’t you tell me how long before it’s _our_ bodies in those museums?”

“Fuck you, Matt.” He spits, storming off, “And stay the fuck away from me and my friends!” 

Derek spends the rest of the day stewing in anger at the sheer nerve of that assmunch, going around saying shit like that. It’s noticeable enough that Stiles asks about it as they’re walking together in the parking lot. 

“That douchebag Matt Daehler, the one who was harassing one of the kids who you came down with, he had some shit to say to me. Called me a traitor to my race, started spewing this crap about Contact Day being a false flag so the Mehntex could take over Earth.” He explains. “I’m sorry my people are such bigots.” 

Stiles leans over, kissing him on the cheek. “There are bigots on both sides. I can’t tell you how often I hear someone talking shit about the _gatzen.”_ He says, distaste for the slur clear. 

“What does that even mean, I’ve never found out?” He asks. 

“Mehntex civilization didn’t develop the same way humans did. By the time certain groups had invented electricity and were putting the first of us into space, there were whole parts of the planet still in the stone age. The literal translation for _gatzen_ is ‘dirtsider’, literally meaning someone who’s never been to space. It’s a way to call someone a primitive, and is considered extremely offensive in certain circles.” 

Derek laughs. “Shit, and here you are, macking on a monkey.” 

“Shut up and kiss me, you savage.”

“I am helpless but to obey my alien overlord.” He responds, pulling Stiles close and kissing him deeply, not giving much of a damn who sees. 

**+**

A handful of weeks later, as February teases into March, and the first hints of spring make themselves known, Derek and Stiles are sprawled together on Stiles’ bed in the Martin house, when Derek finally breaches a topic he’s wanted to for some time. 

“Stiles…” He begins, “You can say no to this, but… would you tell me about the day it, y’know, _happened?”_

The Mehntex sits up, looking at him with a strange mix of emotions in his eyes, before nodding. “It was the seventh of High Summer. I remember there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the tallgrass just seemed to _glow_ in the sun. It must’ve been a little bit after noon, and I was in the house with my mother while Dad was working outside. She had some music playing, but the transmission was cut and the emergency alert played. See, we never figured that anyone would attack Kasva’ar as a means of settlement, just over political shit, and that they’d want to take out our fleets first, giving the planet time to raise its shields and deploy the forces kept dirtside, so our military was mostly deployed in the outer solar system to keep any fighting away from home.” 

“So when the Gondiish showed up in orbit…” Derek trails, seeing quickly how that one failure of imagination doomed a race. 

Stiles nods. “We were completely caught off guard. The emergency broadcast said to shelter in place at first. Dad was law enforcement, not high up or whatever, but he was kind of like a sheriff, and he had his own craft that could get into orbit if needed, a tiny little thing not much bigger than a car, really. There was a landing pad that was pretty far from the house and everything. At first, we did as instructed, but when the fighting in orbit got worse, the Gondiish turned their wrath on the planet. They thought if they wrought enough havoc, the fleet would stand down.” 

“Instead,” He continues, his voice thick with emotion, “They wound up using luminal-speed weapons, kind of like railguns, hurling bolts of their plasma at ten, twenty, even fifty percent the speed of light. That kind of mass and energy, it can _shatter_ continents. By the time the first debris started raining and the atmosphere was turning to poison, most of the cities had already been annihilated. My father was warming up the ship to try and get us out, but my mom, she was _really_ pregnant at the time.” 

“God, Stiles…” 

“She couldn’t move fast, or very far, so she sent me out to the ship, which had some basic shielding. She was waiting inside for Dad to bring the craft to the porch so she could get in, but…” He trails, tears now welling in his eyes. 

Derek reaches out, pulling Stiles to his chest. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry, you don’t have to keep telling me this.” He whispers, kissing the top of his head and stroking along the point of his ear.

“I want to.” He replies. “Just as the ship was ready to go, the bombardment reached our part of the planet. A beam struck just by the house, and all Dad and I could do was watch the shockwave blow the building apart. She didn’t even have a chance, Derek. She died waiting for us to come and get her, and we _couldn’t.”_

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, still kissing his head. “I shouldn’t have asked.” 

Stiles looks up, shaking his head. “No, I’m glad you did. You needed to hear this. I _want_ you to know what happened to me, to my people.”

The two of them lay in a quiet silence for a good, long while after that. 

**+**

Midway through March, Theo makes himself known once more, finding Stiles in an isolated corner of the library as he searches out books for Derek, who is in the attached computer lab working on a project.. 

_“Kévi, siin ahmet nu?”_ He pleads.

“I have nothing to say to you.” Stiles replies briskly. 

Theo shakes his head. “Come on, Stiles, this isn’t fair.” 

“What isn’t _fair_ is you dumping me for no reason, and then two months later slinking your way back after I’ve finally picked up the pieces.” He shoots, folding his arms and leveling a dull glare at the other man. 

“Stiles, how many times have I apologized? I was in a really shitty place, and I couldn’t-” 

“Couldn’t be bothered to say anything more than _‘I can’t do this anymore’,_ over text, no less.” He cuts him off. “Why can’t you take a hint, Theo? I’ve moved on, you should do the same.”

“What, with the Human? Come on, that’s not gonna last. They all get this fascination with us, but then novelty wears off, and the social pushback gets to them, and they just dump us like we’re yesterday’s trash.” Theo snarks. 

“The only person who ever dumped me like yesterday’s trash is standing right in front of me.” He says caustically. 

“And I made a stupid mistake, I fucked up so badly, and I never wanted to hurt you, Genim, please.”

 _“Do not call me that.”_ Stiles snarls. 

“I-” 

“Just go, Theo. Go, and find someone else, someone who can be what you need, because clearly, I couldn’t.”

For a moment, Theo looks deeply torn, and he appears ready to finally give up the ghost, but a resolve fills him at the last second and he turns, seizing Stiles by the waist and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. For the briefest of seconds, he’s frozen in shock by it, but Stiles quickly finds his wits and starts pushing against Theo’s shoulder, his protests muffled by the unwelcome press of his lips. 

_“Get the fuck off of him!”_

Just like that, Theo is ripped from him, the taller teen sent scattering to the floor and he sits there, clutching his cheek, which is quickly blossoming in a brilliant shade of red from where Derek laid quite a punch on him. 

“If you ever touch him again, I will break your hand. Understand me?!” He seethes, towering over the Mehntex, who nods fearfully. “Good, get the fuck away from here.” 

He does as instructed, scrambling to his feet and sprinting out of the library, and Derek turns, his expression immediately softening. “Are you okay?” 

“Y- yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Do you want to go to the office, we can report him for that if you want?” He offers.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, that’s not necessary. You’ve definitely scared him off.” 

“Okay,” He says, approaching him slowly, like a startled animal. “I still don’t like the idea of him even being in this program anymore. He should fuck off back to New Kasva’ar.” 

Not long after, the two of them head for lunch, only for more nonsense to make itself known. As they approach Derek’s locker to drop off some of his stuff, they become aware of the whispers and covert glances of their classmates. When they finally reach the row of lockers, they can see why. 

In bold, black sharpie, someone has written _RACE TRAITOR_ over Derek’s locker. 

Stiles snarls in disgust. “Who the fuck was it?” He demands, but there comes no answer. 

_“Well?!”_ He explodes. 

A freshman girl steps forward. “Word is Matt Daehler did the same thing to Erica Reyes’ locker.” 

In an instant, Stiles stalks off towards the cafeteria, trailed by a protesting Derek, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. He finds Daehler sitting at his usual table in the caf, surrounded by his douchebag friends. 

“Who pissed in your cheerios, Pointy?” He asks as he catches sight of the furious Mehntex. 

“You got a fucking problem, Daehler?” Stiles seethes. “Cause if you do, I suggest you take it up with me.” 

“Oh, I do, freak, but you’re a protected class or some social justice bullshit.” Matt shrugs. “Your traitor boyfriend, on the other hand, he’s just a normal fag, the administration doesn’t give a fuck about him.” 

Stiles leans over the table, his golden eyes blazing even brighter with his fury. “Listen here, you filthy fucking _gatzen,_ this is your last warning. Leave us _all_ alone.” 

“Oh, he thinks he can call me mean names in his alien gibberish and I’ll go away,” Daehler laughs, his band of idiots chuckling along. “Careful, or I’ll report you for speciesism.” He taunts. 

That’s the last of anything actually being said as Stiles grabs the nearest loaded lunch tray and hurls it directly at Matt’s head.

**+**

“Mr. Xhostiles’ii, I want to thank you for attending by holoconference.” Miss Morrell, the guidance counselor, intones. “Mrs. Hale, Mr. Daehler, thank you for being able to come in as quickly as you were, as well.”

Derek covertly looks over to the full color hologram of John Xhostiles’ii, taking in the man for the first time, and quite possibly the last, should this meeting go poorly. He’s an objectively handsome man, with a crop of sand blonde hair, a square jaw, and the sort of posture that comes from years of regimented service. 

“The incidents in question are, frankly, completely unacceptable. This exchange program was intended to foster a culture of understanding, and an opportunity for students on both sides to build lifelong relationships. Instead, we’ve had xenophobia, graffiti, and now _physical violence_ fall upon our heads.” She continues. 

“Mr. Xhostiles’ii, there’s no understating that your son is here as a guest of Beacon Hills, and that privilege can and will be revoked if his behavior is sufficiently warranting of it. Mrs. Hale, your own son participated in this as well.” 

_‘Frankly, Miss Morrell, I’m not concerned about Stiles’ behavior as much as I am about the clear culture of intolerance that led to this incident. If my understanding is correct, this isn’t the first time Mr. Daehler has been reported for xenophobic behavior.’_ Stiles’ father says. 

Talia nods. “I’ve heard reports of similar outbursts coming from that young man.” 

“Now, just wait a minute here,” Matt’s father interrupts, “My son may have said some things that some consider to be offensive, but this young man _attacked_ him.” 

Morrell levels a censorious gaze directly at Matt. “This isn’t about someone’s feelings being hurt, Mr. Daehler. I’m afraid I have undeniable security footage of your son writing racially-charged slurs on the lockers of more than one student, and that’s not even getting onto the verbal things he’s said to more than one of the Mehntex exchange students. This is a very serious situation.”

Matt stutters out, pointing directly at Stiles. “B- but he was out here calling me _something_ in that freak language!”

 _‘Excuse you?!’_ John explodes, his hologram stalking over to Matt. 

“Matthew, shut up!” His dad snarls. “What about the fact that these two kids attacked my son?”

The guidance counselor looks at Stiles and Derek. “Stiles, this is your only warning. Another incident like this, and you will be removed from the program and sent back to New Kasva’ar. I’m also suspending both of you for the remainder of the week, and I _will_ expect you two to keep up on class and homework in the interim.” 

“Yes, Miss Morrell,” They both mutter.

“Mr. Xhostiles’ii, Mrs. Hale, do either of you have any questions?” 

Talia nods, glowering at the Daehlers. “What’s going to happen with him?” 

“I can’t disclose disciplinary action of any student for whom you are not responsible. You can take your son and go, Mrs. Hale.” She responds. 

“What about Stiles?” Derek asks. 

_‘If it’s alright with everyone, I’m more than willing to have Mrs. Hale take my son from the school.’_ His father cuts in. _‘I can’t exactly take him myself.’_

“I don’t have a problem with that,” She responds. “I’d be happy to.” 

Morrell nods. “That’s fine. Stiles, Derek, you’re dismissed.” 

_‘I’ll call later, Stiles.’_

“Got it, Dad.” He responds, and the hologram cuts out. 

Inside Talia’s SUV, the three of them sit in a pregnant silence for a moment as she keys in a location for the autopilot to drive them to. “So!” She breaks the tension, “Who wants lunch?” 

“Ma, are you not…?”

“Pissed? Oh, I am, but not at you two. I went to school with Tim Daehler, he was always a douche, it’s no surprise his son is even worse. I’m _proud_ that you two stood up for each other. Stiles, how is your eye feeling?” She points to where Stiles’ right eye has swollen thanks to Matt’s fist making contact. 

He shrugs. “Kinda stings, but nothing I can’t handle.” 

“So, Chinese, Mexican, Italian, some kind of garbage fast food? You two pick.” Talia says, smiling proudly at the two boys. 

**+**

By the time school has dismissed and Laura and Cora are making their way back, the news has already reached the grapevine. Although he isn’t expelled, and he isn’t being charged with anything, Matt Daehler has been suspended for an entire _month,_ and after that he’s on probation for the remainder of his senior year. No prom, no senior formal, and if he is even allowed to walk at graduation depends on his behavior. Not to mention, one more incident even on the periphery of the Mehntex, and he’ll be expelled without second thought. 

Not long after the Battle of Sixth Period Lunch, Derek and Stiles make things official. Joined by Lydia and her reluctant boyfriend, Jackson, the group of teenagers all eagerly dive into preparations for prom. Lydia, being the head of the prom committee, was able to convince the school board that going all out for their Mehntex guests is an excellent idea, and so this year’s prom is located on the _Triumph of the Seas,_ Royal Caribbean’s ninth in the _Oasis_ -class of cruise ships, and currently the largest such craft in the world. 

Presently docked in San Francisco, the cost of transportation to the _Triumph_ is included in the price of the prom tickets, with the relatively brief ninety minute ride not being a terrible burden on the school’s bus drivers. With a truly stellar location selected and the tickets all taken care of, the only thing left to do is shop for the perfect outfits. 

Over Easter Break, they pile into their various cars and head for San Francisco, which is the only place where Stiles and Boyd could possibly get Mehntex clothing, unless they went back home to NK or ordered it online. The first stop for them is a charming shop in the Castro called S’Vaya’s. 

The two story building is loaded with clothes in all manner of colors and styles, and a sprightly Mehntex woman in her later years, her hair ornately over her head appears from behind. “Welcome!” She greets, her voice thick with an Avilahn accent. “I am S’Vaya, and I assume you’re here for outfits for your… prom, I believe is word?” 

“Yes, _tsena.”_ Stiles replies, angling his head in a bow to the elderly woman. 

She smiles. “Wonderful. All formalwear is on second floor. Our outfits are sorted by _liro,_ and split into traditional styles and more modern ones, then by color, then size. We also have large selection of Human clothing with Mehntex influences. May I ask your _liros?”_

“I’m Tah’séh,” He answers, then points to Boyd. “He’s Saanzhae.” 

“Excellent, and are dates with you? We can happily style them as well.” S’Vaya queries.

Derek and Erica each raise their hands, stepping up to their respective significant others. 

The woman nods approvingly. “Handsome couples, both of you. Come, I help you find perfect outfits. You looking for more traditional, modern, or mix of both?” 

“Something traditional but simple for myself, and as for Derek…?” Stiles trails, looking to him. 

The Human smiles. “I guess the same. I’d love to wear something from your _liro.”_

“Same here,” Erica interrupts. “I’ve seen enough Mehntex fashion to adore it.” 

S’Vaya nods, leading the group of teenagers upstairs, before leveling a critical eye on the racks of clothing, all of which are arranged in various rainbows, neatly drifting from red to purple. She mutters to herself in Avilahn, before gesturing for Erica to join near the purple end of the gowns in the Saanzhae section. She pulls out something that seems to resemble an Indian sari, though without the excess fabric to be draped over the arm, and with a tight set of fabric covering the left shoulder. The hem of the main dress is trimmed with silver calligraphy, and the underdress has heathering with silver and purple. 

The seamstress next looks to the men’s rack, finding a knee-length tunic with a matching set of loose pants, both of them gold and trimmed with similar silver calligraphy. Handing the outfits to Erica and Boyd respectively, she shoos them to the dressing room, before leveling an appraising eye on Derek and Stiles. 

“Hmm… I have it.” She says, before flitting with surprising speed to the Tah’séh rack and pulling out a midnight blue, floor length robe, with just a simple Avilahn phrase embroidered over the heart, and hands it to Derek. The robe she pulls for Stiles is similar, but much looser, and the rich teal garment has a longer set of calligraphy that flows down the left arm. 

Just as with Boyd and Erica, S’Vaya points them over to the dressing rooms, and when Derek is finished putting on the outfit, he has to admit, it’s incredible. He feels a bit like a character in one of those high fantasy dramas from the 2010’s, but with its Mandarin collar and tight fit across the upper body, along the complementary undershirt and trousers, the pants exposed by the open front and back of the main robe, it’s undeniably the one he wants to wear. By the time he makes his way out to the others, he finds S’Vaya explaining something to Erica.

“... Saanzhae women very proud of hair, never wear it up. Style back, tuck behind ears, even curl if you want, but do _not_ wear hair up. If you do, people think you maid or _syrhani’vat.”_ She instructs, before turning to catch sight of Derek. “Ah! You look wonderful, like proper Tah’séh man!” 

“Thank you,” He chuckles. “It’s an amazing set of robes. How much is it, by the way?”

She shrugs. “One hundred fifty. Most expensive gowns or suits on rack… oh, probably three hundred at most?”

Lydia’s eyebrows fly up. “You said you sell tuxes and dresses as well?” 

_“Keh,”_ S’Vaya nods. “Can do custom as well, but might cost extra, depending on material or style. Give me two weeks from order, have it ready for you. Can ship if needed, takes two days if you in Bay Area.”

The redhead grins wickedly. “Oh, we’re _all_ getting our stuff here. Ma’am, would you direct me to what you have that has Mehntex influences?”

“Of course, right this way.” 

**+**

The agreed upon meeting place for prom is the Hale house, since the picturesque little clearing lends itself to beautiful pictures. John Xhostiles’ii has even driven down from New Kasva’ar to see his son off to prom, and the immediate thing Derek is struck by is the sheer radiance of his glowing silver eyes. He forgoes a handshake, instead pulling the younger man into a hug. 

“Good to finally meet you in person, Derek.” He says with just the slightest hint of an Avilahn accent, grinning widely. “Sorry the first time we saw each other was because your classmate was an asshole.”

Derek snorts. “It’s fine. Good to meet you, too, Mr. X.” 

“Please, call me John.” 

“Dad! Come meet Paige!” Stiles calls over from where she’s standing in a silver sequined number from one of S’Vaya’s more distinctly Human racks. 

Laura is laughing in the arms of one Corrin McKinnon, whom she finally womaned up and asked out not long after the Winter Formal. This, unfortunately, left Camden going stag, until he and Cora agreed to go together as friends. There are more photos taken with the couples, and then more with the parents, and finally at least a thousand group photos before they finally have to be at the high school to catch the bus up to San Francisco.

Bidding their parents goodbye, the teenagers all load into their fleet of vehicles. Derek and Stiles are exiled to the backseat of the Camaro with Laura and Corrin in the front, but they still manage to enjoy themselves as they make idle adolescent chatter and sing along to Top Forty hits. 

In a lull in the conversation, Derek turns to Stiles. “Hey, I never got to ask, what does this word of my chest mean?” 

“Uh… it’s kind of a hard concept to explain in English. It’s like a protector, or provider, or even just a leader. The closest _word_ I can think of would probably be… alpha. Yeah, alpha.” He says, tracing the glyphic symbol with the finger and smiling softly at the Human. 

“Huh.” He grins. “So, I’m the alpha?” 

“Yeah, big guy, you’re the alpha.” Stiles chuckles.

**+**

The sun is just setting over the city by the time the buses reach the Embarcadero where the _Triumph of the Seas_ is docked. The full group of teenagers walks together in a tight cluster, looking up at the great beast of a ship in wonder, its upper decks already fully decorated for the Beacon Hills prom. 

With the cruise ship ahead and the skyline of the city behind them, Stiles stops, just looking around and taking it all in. Finally, he turns to Derek, and pulls him into a tight embrace. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with.” 

“Me neither,” Derek responds, sighing with contentment. “You are so much more than I ever thought one person could be.” 

_“Xanach besh'net Nos jhem ge'réhno.”_ Stiles says, his voice thick with emotion. 

The Human laughs. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

“I have crossed the galaxy to find you.” 

**+**

**Glossary of Avilahn Terms**

**Hesh'** **tar ma’an, Adda. Keh, mélé Nos viintak. -** It’s fine, Dad. Yes, I am sure.

 **Gatzen-** Literally _‘_ _dirtsider’,_ a racial slur describing a primitive person.

 **Jhem Nos kara. -** I love you.

 **Jhem kara, Stiles. -** Love you, Stiles.

 **Liro -** Mehntex tribal distinctions. They have little effect on modern social interaction, but are part of a person’s cultural and familial heritage.

 **Sédii jhem man* Nos korcala tersu?** **-** Can I offer (double meaning, implying force you to take) you a bottle of Coke?

 **Heh-net siin’o Derek Hale koz jhem? -** Why were you and Derek Hale talking?

 **Samrahk-net nu. -** We collided.

 **Heh? -** Why?

 **Vista’al niishaena sahna ge’vór jhem-mé. -** You’re clearly attracted to him.

 **Hesh'** **tar jhem voq’méran tiis! -** It’s a pleasure to meet you!

 **Uh… sahnka. -** Uh… thanks.

 **Kii’laar. -** Asshole.

 **Sovash lotan, Amathéoros! -** Fuck off, Theo!

 **Saihan'jh. -** Refrigerator.

 **Keh, tsena. -** Yes, ma’am.

 **Kévi, siin ahmet nu? -** Please, can we talk?

 **Syrhani’vat. -** A prostitute.

 **Xanach besh'net Nos jhem ge'réhno. -** I have crossed the galaxy to find you.

**Notes on the Avilahn Language**

Avilahn uses an extremely rare word order referred to as "object-subject-verb", or OSV. On Earth, only a handful of languages, many with only a few hundred speakers, utilize this word order. OSV is also the way which Yoda from _Star Wars_ speaks. When speaking casually, one uses shorthand prefixes rather than full words for prepositional phrases such as "am" or "to". We see Stiles use the word _mélé,_ meaning am, using the formal speech to offer emphasis to his father, but we also see Lydia use the phrase _ge’vór,_ meaning "to him" when she's speaking casually. The prefix _voq',_ used by Talia the first time she meets Stiles, is a rare archaic holdover of Old Avilahn also meaning "to", used only in an honorific context usually spared for elders or leaders, which better explains Stiles' confusion, as he doesn't see himself as necessitating such formal address.

Recursion, the ability to convey ideas of past, present, and future, also occurs differently in Avilahn. Using the verb _besh,_ meaning "to cross", as an example, we can understand how Avilahn uses suffixes for recursion. In English, the recursive forms from past to future tense would be crossed, crossing, and will cross. Recursive tenses in Avilahn work differently. The past and present tenses are _besh'net_ and _besh'o,_ whereas the future tense uses a prefix rather than a suffix. "Will cross" in Avilahn is _sa'besh._ A fourth tense, the extremely rare "eternal" tense, also exists, mostly in religious context, but also for extreme emphasis. _Sovash lotan,_ meaning "fuck off", could be modified to _Sovash lotan-del,_ essentially meaning "Fuck off, stay fucked off, you've always been fucked off, and will always be fucking off."

To fully understand how different Avilahn is from English, take the title phrase, _Xanach besh'net Nos jhem ge'réhno._ The literal translation would be "Galaxy cross[ed] have I you [to] find." The parts in brackets are representative of the prefixes and suffixes. In the upcoming sequel, _Kéhviit Molo Jhek Sahnva Nos Jhem sa'Réhno,_ we will see more of the Avilahn language, as well as other tongues. Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, what are yours?! I haven't written too much sci-fi on here, but it's one of my favorite genres to read and write, so I gave it a hand. I've had too many fics here end at the dance itself, whether it's prom or a wedding, and as much as I love that trope, it didn't quite feel right for here, so we got that cute little scene on the Embarcadero. Drop a review, please!


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